


The Making of a Gentleman

by GhostsThough



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Not a dark fic, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Pip has adoptive parents, Pip is still alive, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostsThough/pseuds/GhostsThough
Summary: When Damien’s behavior has become even a problem for Hell, Satan enlists Pip’s help to teach Damien how to be a gentleman.





	The Making of a Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> **A note on Pip: Pip has been living in America for many years now, and is not fresh from Britain like he was in canon. So as you can guess, while still partaking in his afternoon tea and using a few British slang words, he is not as much of a stereotypical britishman as he was.  
> Beta: XI-Am-ObsessedX - Thank you for looking this over!  
> 

****  
  
In Hell, one would think proprietary was not a standard, considering the unsavory population the Bible condemned to the underworld. Meals were probably spent throwing food, playing the knife game at the table, and passing gas -- the exact opposite of what a gentleman would do.

At least, that’s what Pip had imagined. Many times though, his theories had been proven wrong, and this hypothesis had followed suit in the wake of receiving a surprise visit from Satan himself.

“H-Hello, Satan, sir,” Pip greeted timidly, shivering in his bed. “H...Ha...How do you d-do?”

The shock made his throat constrict, turning his voice into a squeak. Although, the shock might have been aimed more towards being startled awake in the dead of night by screams piercing the quiet of his bedroom, and his floorboards turning to char under the hot glow of fire until finally caving in, allowing Satan himself to step up from his kingdom. His poor heart still had not settled from the startlement as he gaped up at the hulking red beast that loomed over him, yellow eyes narrowed, horns stretching up towards the ceiling, snarled features alit in the fire that grew across his bedroom. Pip spared a glance to his smoke alarm, and saw the red light blink, unconcerned with the blaze, before returning his gaze to the main threat in front of him.

As if it would afford him some defense, he pulled his blankets up to his chin, shaking even as his lips curled into some semblance of a smile.

“You are Phillip Pirrip, are you not?” Satan boomed, voice a deep growl.

For a moment, Pip sat in silence, unable to decide whether to lie or not, and questioning if Satan would be able to detect any falsehoods.

He must have taken too long to decide, for Satan snarled, and the fire beneath his hooves leaped, stretching up to the ceiling now as he leaned forward until Pip was encased in his great shadow.

“Well, are you or are you not?”

“Yes sir!” Pip squeezed his eyes shut, but even then, the after image of Satan’s silhouette burned underneath his eyelids.

Beneath the sound of his thudding heart, he could hear the click of Satan’s hooves approaching, but still he kept his eyes stubbornly closed. Maybe if he ignored him, Satan would go away, or perhaps this was all a nightmare. He hoped the latter to be true, and waited for the moment he would wake up to his alarm and the realization that this was all a bad dream.

Then, a great mass settled down at the end of his bed, lifting him up on a hill created by the weight. Eyes flying open, he yelped, seeing Satan sitting beside him.

Satan shot him an irritable look. “Settle down,” he demanded, and instantly Pip’s scream cut off and he curled further in on himself.

“I am not here to hurt you,” Satan reassured, voice softer. Pip nodded, although in his head he knew he shouldn’t take the incarnate of evil at his word. He remained silent, gaze settled on Satan’s hooves that stretched out in front of him, and waited for more.

“I am actually here to make a proposition.”

Pip’s eyes snapped up to Satan at that. “A p-pr-proposition?” He busied his twitching fingers with worrying a thread on his blanket. “For what?” In his head, he asked incredulously, ‘ _What would Satan need_ me _for?’_

Satan sighed, pinching the knot between his furrowed eyebrows. Pip recognized the look as the same one Frank, his adoptive father, wore sometimes when his American vocabulary clashed with Pip’s British English during his literature lessons. It made his head swim, realizing how _human_ Satan looked just then.

“I need someone to school my son in the ways of decorum.”   

Pip snapped out of his ponderings to gape. “W-Wait, then you must…” Pip’s words died. Swallowing thickly, he asked, “...You...you want _me_ to..To do _that_?”

“Teach my son to be a gentleman? Yes.”

“Why me?”

Satan blinked, raising an eyebrow as he stared down at Pip quizzically. “Is it not obvious?”

When no answer from Pip was forthcoming, Satan sighed again, exasperated this time. “Well, for one, you know my son.”

“I do?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew who it was. An image of a frowning boy with wavy black hair and clothes to match, and fire that burned brightly in his blue eyes flashed in his mind.

“Damien Thorn,” he breathed.

“Damien, yes. He’s become quite...a problem, for both Heaven and Hell. I am at at the end of my rope -- he won’t listen to anyone and he’s making everything worse than it needs to be. Even Gandhi was tempted to commit violence when he tried helping.” Satan dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do anymore! You’re kind of my last hope here, kid.”

“Your last hope?” A laugh bubbled out from his lips before he could stop it. “Gandhi couldn’t even tame Damien, and you are asking for my help?”

Satan opened his mouth to respond, but Pip was already shooting off.

“I’m sorry sir, but your son would never listen to me! He would sooner burn me to a crisp, like he did all those years ago.” He pulled his blanket tighter around him, remembering the role he played in Damien being accepted in school. “If from what I hear he’s _worse_ , then I think you should find someone more qualified. Perhaps Cesar Millan would be of help to you.”

There was a loud growl, and Satan stood from the bed.  Pip jumped, staring wide-eyed up into Satan's eyes. Reflected back at him was the same hellfire that glowed in Damien’s eyes all those years ago. Pip shivered. Once again he felt small, like an ant underneath Satan’s hoof. He suddenly didn’t feel so confident.

Satan bared his sharp fangs with a snarl. “I know I am correct in my assumptions. The person to make Damien into a gentleman must be you.”

Pip sputtered, “Do I even have a choice?”

Satan looked off to the side, thoughtful, then grinned contemptuously. “No, I suppose you do not.” He then pointed down at Pip, who flinched away from the directed action. “Be ready by tomorrow night. Your tutoring begins then.” Then the fire closed in around him, and Satan was gone.

The fire diminished to ashes that peppered Pip’s floor, the only evidence of Satan’s visit, as everything the fire had touched was back to normal, no longer charred and broken.

The ensuing silence made Pip’s ears ring; every breath and beat of his heart an echo.

Pip sat back on his bed, feeling out of breath. The clock on his bedside read three fourteen in the morning -- the witching hour.

 _‘In through your nose, out through your mouth’_ , he heard his therapist’s words recite in his mind. Taking deep breaths, he carded trembling fingers through his long blonde hair, pushing the strands back from his face. His body felt heavy, weighed down more than his one hundred and thirty pounds, like he could easily sink right through the mattress and never emerge again. Feeling the weight bear down on him, he fell back on his pillows, hand on his stomach, focusing on the rise and fall with every deep breath he took.  

He should be used to South Park’s anomalies by now. Back in the third and fourth grade, everyday brought with it new experiences. Satan appearing in his bedroom was nothing.

 _‘Except, he wants me to teach Damien Thorn to be a gentleman,’_ his mind reminded him, and he groaned. Turning his head to face his clock, from the angle, the rose vase on his bedside table covered up the last minute digit. Three twenty-something, it read.

Too innervated from the past half hour, he sat up again, and flicked on his reading lamp. Might as well get a headstart on his work for the day, he supposed, stepping out of bed.

Later, at the more reasonable hour of six-thirty, this is how Pip’s adoptive mother found him: out cold, head pillowed by his folded arms, and drooling on the dining room table with his book _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens out in front of him, bookmarked by his pinky. Notes laid scattered beside him with his number two pencil having long since fallen and rolled underneath his chair.

Pip started awake at someone shaking his shoulder.

“Wha-Who-?” He whipped his head around to face the culprit.

Upon seeing Margie, ready and dressed for work, round face contorted with concern, he relaxed. “Oh dear, it’s just you Margie…”

“What are you doing up this early?” Margie asked, rubbing his shoulder. Her hand then paused. “It’s not the nightmares again, is it?”

Pip rubbed the heel of his palm over his eyes with a yawn. He shook his head. “Good heavens no. No nightmares. I was just woken up, and couldn’t fall back asleep,” he said.

“Oh, good.” Margie patted his shoulder. “Well, since you’re up, I might as well prepare you something to eat too. Want eggs and toast, kiddo?”

Pip smiled up at her. “That would be marvelous. Thank you, Margie.”

Pip followed Margie into the kitchen, listening to the sounds of her rummaging around in the the cupboards, pots and pans clinking, and the muffled clap of fridge door opening and closing behind him.

As she made them breakfast, he filled his electric tea kettle, and turned it on. As he waited for the water to heat up, he let his mind wander.

Although it had only been three hours earlier, Satan’s visit seemed like a dream. To think, that Satan would ask him -- no, _demand_ him, Philip Pirrip, to teach Damien Thorn lessons on propriety? He had to be absolutely mad to think Damien would give a darn about what he had to say, especially on being a gentleman! After all, it’s been years since he last saw the fellow. The fourth grade, if memory serves him right. Just months before the Mecha-Streisand attack, when his adoptive parents came to the unanimous decision to move to North Park and pull him from public schooling. Homeschooling it was from then on, and later with intervening therapy sessions that served to diagnose and treat more than the nightmares he had started to have.  

Remembering that time was dreadful. Shaking his head, he preoccupied himself with retrieving his olive green mug from the cupboard and grabbing an Earl Grey tea bag from the box beside his kettle. Flicking off the electric tea kettle, he poured his drink, sniffling when steam rose up to curl around his face. Now, it was time to wait again.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Margie asked from across the kitchen. She popped two pieces of bread into the toaster, then returned to the stove, scraping up the cooked scrambled eggs inside the pan with a fork.

Pip walked over to the pantry to grab Margie’s nutella, knowing she ate it on her toast. “I had an early start on the day, and completed my literature lessons and discussion posts already.” He was taking an online college level English class with a nearby community college, and was working on a compare-contrast essay with a class reading and a novel of his choosing. “All I have left to do is my Algebra II and American History lessons,” Pip said, putting the nutella down by the toaster.

“No science?” Subsequently, she asked, “Could you get plates down, please?” as she turned off the burner. Once he did, she distributed an equal amount of eggs on both their plates. A moment later, the toast popped up, and both respectively buttered theirs -- Margie with her nutella, and Pip with jam. He grabbed his cuppa on the way back to the dining room, where they sat to eat breakfast.

Their conversation resumed there. “I am still waiting for North Park High School to send over the materials I need for a lab. They should be in on Wednesday.”

“Two days without science class…” She mumbled, taking a bite of her toast.

“I am reviewing my lessons in the meantime,” he reassured, earning a nod of approval from her. Pip removed the tea bag from his mug, and got up briefly to pour milk and sugar into his Earl Gray. Seated again, he took a slow sip of his tea, humming approvingly at the taste.

Margie consulted the wall clock in the lull between conversation, and with a muffled exclamation that sounded suspiciously like, _“Oh shit!”_ she begun to shovel her food into her mouth. Pip glanced at the clock too, and saw it was seven. She was supposed to be into work by seven thirty.

“Don’t worry about your dishes, I will take care of them,” he offered when Margie stood with her plate.

She smiled, setting everything back down, and reached over to ruffle his long hair. “Thank you, kiddo.” She then ran off into the bathroom, to brush her teeth most likely. In the meantime, he took his time with eating, and waved goodbye to her when she sped past him to the front door.

Over her shoulder, she yelled, “Have a good day, Phillip! Love you!”

She shut the door just as he called back a, “You too!”

Hours later, Pip was still at the dining room table, but this time with his laptop in front of him. Frank had come down at nine, and since then was multitasking in between making sure Pip was staying on track with his schoolwork, and working on his programming. He was typing away on his own laptop across the table, an earbud inside his ear, and a coffee mug by his computer mouse on the right side. His black framed glasses were aglow from the computer screen, and every now and then he paused to push them back up his nose. It was the thud and occasional click of the spacebar that kept Pip from nodding off in the early afternoon.

Pip rubbed his eyes, and read the same line over again. It was like the words were moving, changing rows, morphing between _affect_ and _effect_.

From across the table, breaking for a sip of coffee, Frank rose an eyebrow at Pip when he heard the teen yawn. Taking out his earbud, he asked, “You okay, son?”

“Oh, I’m marvelous, thank you,” Pip automatically responded, except without his usual cheer. Cheek in hand, he hit the up arrow key to reread from the start of the paragraph.

“You seem tired is all,” he heard Frank persist.  

“I’m fine, thank you,” Pip repeated, glancing over at Frank, who scanned his face with great solicitude. He returned to the computer screen, squinting as if it would make his brain function better.

“If you’re sure…” After a long moment, Frank got up, and left his coffee at the table as he grabbed the empty mug beside Pip’s hand. “‘Bout time for afternoon tea, wouldn’t you say?”

Pip glanced over at the wall clock, and indeed it was two fifty, just ten minutes before. Where had the time gone?

“Oh, I suppose it is.”

“I’m going to go warm up those blueberry scones you made yesterday. Want more tea?” he asked, wiggling Pip’s mug.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” This time Pip didn’t have to force his smile.

Frank came by again moments later, scone on a plate and tea in the other. This was a daily ritual for them since Pip was nine, when he first arrived at their home and hesitantly asked Frank and Margie about afternoon tea. That was eight years ago, and the tradition had yet to die out.

Closing and setting his laptop aside, he thanked Frank when he put his scone and tea down in front of him.

“There you go,” Frank said, and disappeared for a second to grab his own scone. “Now here I go,” he finished, setting his dish in the seat next to Pip. Sitting down beside Pip, he sent a quick smile his son’s way as he rubbed his hands together. “Now to enjoy these blueberry scones you made!”

“Let me know how you like them,” Pip said, bobbing his tea bag up-and-down in his mug as he watched Frank dig in. Although Pip’s made scones several times before for his adoptive parents, time has shown that no matter what, when he burnt a batch to a crisp or used salt instead of sugar, he would be praised for his creations.

He was not wrong, for Frank groaned in delight soon after his first bite. “As always, Phil, your scones are amazing!”

“Thank you very much,” Pip said, smiling. He removed his tea bag -- this time, the flavor being chamomile -- and took a sip.

Instantly, the tense line of his shoulder relaxed. He sighed, content.

“That's a good cuppa.”

“I will never understand your love for tea,” Frank said, shaking his head.

Dismissively, Pip took a long sip of his tea. “And I will never understand your love for coffee.”

“Touché.”

Pip chuckled, and took a bite of his scone. Frank was right, it was a good batch.

Afternoon tea closed after a while of making small talk, and soon they were both back to their respective work.   

Two hours passed, and with the help of caffeine from his tea, Pip was able to complete his work a little after five. Usually, he would be done by four.  

No longer distracted by the monotony of work, Pip’s thoughts raced as he recalled the details of last night’s visitation.

 _‘Be ready by tomorrow night. Your tutoring begins then,’_ were Satan’s words, and while he was specific on what half of the day, he didn’t provide a time.

Flustered at his predicament, Pip headed towards the staircase.

Frank’s voice stopped him. “Phil, you hungry?” He emerged from the kitchen wiping his hands with a dishtowel, a small smile on his face. “I’m making spaghetti and meatballs tonight!”

Pip felt a pang of guilt when he turned to Frank, and watched his face fall when he saw Pip’s contrite expression. “My apologies, but I am feeling rather seedy right now.”

It was not a total fib -- the anxiety of not knowing when or how these lessons were going to be conducted had his stomach twisting itself into knots. The idea of food was positively nauseating at the moment.

Bowing his head, he stared at his feet as he spoke. “If it’s alright with you, I think I will be passing on dinner tonight.”

“Of course. Is there anything you need?” Frank said, leaning against the banister.

Pip smiled. “I believe rest is in order, but thank you. I am sure your dinner will be positively delicious.” He took a step up. “I will be in my room then, but...Frank, in case I don’t see you again... _Goodnight_.”

Frank smiled. “You too, bud. Have a good night.”

 _‘I hope so too,’_ Pip thought, and bidding a final thank you, he retreated into his room.

Sitting on his bed, he looked around his room, paying close attention to where Satan emerged last night. Was Satan supposed to be bringing Damien here? Worried, he slid from his bed to lock his bedroom door.

Back to the door, he scanned his room again for any signs of hellfire, even sniffed the air for smoke. Nothing.

“How am I supposed to be ready if he never gave a time?” Pip muttered, walking over to his window now.

North Park was in many ways similar to South Park. The kind of housing was the same, with the typical garage, basement, connected living and dining room, and a kitchen on the bottom floor, and three rooms on the second. The cold seasons were just as rampant, granting residences only a few days of summer before the chill returned, and winter coats and hats came back on.

Like his home back in South Park, he was in the same room he would have been in there. The view wasn’t the same though, as his family lived on the very end of the residences, providing him a distant view of the dying small businesses on Main Street.  From the sounds of it, the gentrification of South Park was drawing in more of North Park.

He sighed, and watched the sun’s slow descent down towards the mountainscape. Pip had to assume night meant when it’s dark out, but with his nerves over what to expect from all this, he needed to be ready.

That’s why when he caught sight of his reflection in the window, he felt horrified.

“Bloody hell, I can’t possibly be seen dressed like this!” he said, horrified to see he was still wearing his _‘It’s a Tea Shirt’_ and blue jeans. “No gentleman would be caught dressed like this for a formal event.”

Running over to his closet, he sifted through his shirts hanging there until he found his maroon button down. Pulling that from the hanger, he closed the door and moved on to his dresser, pulling open his pants drawer.  

A knocking on the door interrupted him. “Phil, Frank said you’re not feeling alright. Are you okay in there?” Margie’s voice asked. Another knock shook Pip from his startlement.

“Oh, I am doing positively fine! Just getting ready for bed!” he called, closing his dresser drawer with a pair of black slacks over his arm.

He heard the door knob turn, clicking against the lock that held it shut. “Why’s the door locked?”

“Changing!” he called, dropping his jeans to slip into the more formal pair.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “Alright, just remember to unlock the door when you’re done. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I will, and no I don’t believe I do. I’ll be sleeping now, so please no one disturb me, thank you!” he said, voice becoming momentarily muffled as he pulled off his shirt.

“Alrighty then, good night kiddo. I hope you feel better tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will! Good night!”

He listened to her retreating footsteps before he slipped on his maroon button-up. He had to rebutton it twice from how worked up he felt. At any moment, Satan could be coming, not willing though he was, he had to make sure he was ready. After all, that’s what a gentleman would do.

Except, two hours passed, and still no show. Margie and Frank were already settling into bed for TV in the next room over, while Pip laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with eyes half-mast. Maybe Satan had forgotten about his plans? He was the Prince of Hell after all, surely even Satan had to forget something on his schedule.

He blinked. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, every blink becoming longer. It seemed being awake since three was taking its toll.

Turning on his side to face the bedside table, he pushed his vase with the rose aside to read the time. Nine thirty-one.

Between one slow blink and the next, the time became nine thirty-two.

“Looks like Satan is a no-show,” Pip mumbled, feeling as his consciousness ebbed.

Pip’s eyes closed.

Next time he opened them, he saw his bedroom. Colors were muted, and flashed into visibility like a strobe light under the full moon's glow entering through his window. Above him, the ceiling drew closer and closer. Details popped into focus, miniscule shadows hiding behind tiny hills in the paint. He reached out to feel the gritty texture.

Clawed fingers around his shoulder stopped him.

 _“You're going the wrong way,”_ it hissed.

Then he was falling.

Fire blazed around him, shapes coming and going, pushing and pulling him down

_Down_

**_DOWN_ **

Serpents, grotesque imitations of man, cackling, talking all at once. Pip screamed, unable to swim back up, unable to escape the fire, unable to do anything against being yanked further and further down.

Then suddenly as it all began, the fiery tunnel was a whirlpool in a dark sky. Heather red smog meandered upwards, obscuring his view of tall, distant mountains. He was lying down, spread eagle on red bedrock.

Equally red, was the face that invaded his vision.

“Cor, blimey!” he yelped, rolling to his feet to stand back from the creature. Revealed was a giant imp-esque monster, with leathery red skin, narrowed yellow eyes, and short black horns on its forehead. Its body was huge, with thick limbs and bigger extremities, and long bat wings with red membranes sprouting from its back. When it opened his mouth, Pip felt dread fill him at all the sharp teeth.

“Follow me,” the creature hissed, its voice a deep growl. It reached a clawed hand out, and the feel of it curling around his shoulder was familiar.

“You...You want me to follow?”

In lieu of answering, the creature shoved him forward. Pip stumbled, but quickly regained his footing.

“No need to shove!” he countered, and followed this time as the creature started forward.

They appeared to be in a rock circle, as horned gray stones stood erect from the bedrock. As he came closer, he could see petroglyphs were carved into the surfaces; what they detailed, he did not know. As they passed the structures, he looked around, a frown on his face.

From the fire, desert-like landscape and dark skies, it begged the question: “Tell me, are we in Hell?” He almost dreaded the answer as the creature turned its head slightly to peer back at him.

“What does it look like?” it snapped, and that’s all the confirmation Pip needed. Stopping in his tracks, he just stood there, frozen, as the creature continued onward.

When it became obvious that Pip’s footsteps no longer echoed its, the creature spun around to face him.  

“C’mon, keep up!”

“Please, you must tell me, am I... am I _dead_?” Pip felt a cold wash of dread pour over him as he thought over Satan's proposition. “Please, you have to tell me! I'm supposed to only help, temporarily you see, not...not permanently!” He continued to blubber like this for awhile, near tears at the thought of being dead, and in Hell for that matter for all eternity!

The creature’s pointed ears twitched, and with a growl it stepped towards the teen, sharp teeth bared. “For the love of all that is Satan, will you please shut up?” it hissed, and Pip’s mouth clicked shut. “You're not dead, just...temporarily displaced. See?”

Its clawed hand swiped forward. Pip yelled, snapping his eyes closed, waiting for the pain of those talons tearing open his stomach to come. However, all he felt was a faint burn. Cracking his eyes open, he peered down at his stomach, fully expecting to see his guts to be hanging out. Instead, he saw the undisturbed fabric of his button down.

“You can't be harmed here,” the creature said, flexing its claws. “Not when you're an astral body.” With that out of the way, it continued the way forward.

After a moment of gaping, Pip shook his head. “I've gone absolutely bonkers..” he whispered, and shouted a quick, “Wait!” as he stumbled after the demon.

The creature did not take him far. Before, he saw a tall black mountain made of rock jutting up from the Earth in the distance. Closer up, he saw it for what is truly was: a castle. A moat of lava surrounded the fort, and a door made of the same black stone blended in seamlessly to the walls it was attached to. Pip only understood it to be the opening when two guards like his guide in appearance lowered the door with a chain, forming a bridge across the dangerous ditch.

On the other side, a withered old man in dark robes with wispy white hair and a scar across his left eye appeared, waiting for them.

“Ah, Zazul, thank you for delivering the child,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I will take him from here.”

“Very well,” Zazul said, and in goodbye, shoved Pip towards the old man. “Watch him, he doesn’t like to move his feet.” With that, he walked off into the castle, disappearing through one of the many tunnels that lined the inside of the atrium.

Pip watched Zazul go before turning his attention back to the old man in front of him.

“So, you’re Pip?” the old man asked, mouth twisted as he regarded Pip with a clear look of disapproval.

“Yes, that would be me, Phillip Pirrip. And who might you be?”

“Demonius. Now come, you’re running late.”

Entering the atrium, Pip immediately took notice of the fire burning in openings of the interior, smoke circulating upwards towards the open skylight, which let in extra lighting from the fire whirlpool in the sky. The castle must have been dug out from a dormant volcano then, Pip surmised, as he trailed after Demonius into a vast, open doorway obverse from the entrance. From there, Pip was lead down a long hallway. Chains hung from the walls, glinting in the light of fire. Manacles hung here and there, rusted from what looked suspiciously like blood. Pip stayed well away from those, nearly stepping on Demonius’ heels from how close he was following.

“Funny, Zazul said you don’t like to move your feet,” Demonius said, shooting a look at Pip for his proximity. Pip was quick to move back.  

Finally, in the dim light a grand wooden door appeared from the darkness, revealing an end to the long hall.

It was from their growing contiguity that Pip couldn’t help but overhear Satan’s raised voice.

_“I told you Damien, no more Canadian hunting! You have an important meeting soon, and you’re lucky that you got back in time!”_

The two guards stationed outside the door winced, as the yell caused even the chains to rattle. Pip shivered, rubbing his upper arm self-soothingly as he loitered behind Demonius, who stopped outside the door. Pip was mystified to see he wore an expression of imperviousness as the Prince of Hell yelled in the room behind him.  

To Pip, he addressed: “You will stay here until called for, understood?” Then to the guards standing outside the door, he ordered, “Watch him.” The guards nodded, and Pip stepped aside as Demonius peeked his head inside the room.

Over his head, Pip could only make out the tips of Satan’s yellow horns, and a black chandelier with red candles burning inside them.

“Satan, I apologize for the interruption, but the boy you called for has arrived.” Demonius stepped further into the room, revealing more of Satan to Pip’s gaze. Still, he could not see where Damien was.

Satan’s yellow eyes glanced towards the door, and met Pip’s brown’s.

“Very well, send him in.”

Demonius turned enough to gesture for Pip to come, and hesitantly, Pip stepped through the door.

It appeared he stepped inside a large dining room, as there was a long black table lined with chairs made of the same rock and red pillows cushioning the seats.

Satan stood by the largest chair on the end, and a few chairs away, Pip finally saw him.

“Pip, you know my son, Damien.”

Damien had changed in many ways, and few in others. He was taller now, but shorter than Pip by an inch, and appeared to be developing the body shape of a wedge with his wide shoulders and narrow waist, very much like his father in that regard. His black hair still resembled the cut from his youth, falling messily to one side of his forehead, strands poking out every which way from the nape. A couple noticeable differences were his ears, having pinched upwards to something vaguely like an elf's; then there were his blue eyes and his narrowed vertical pupils, and with his lips peeled back in a snarl, Pip could see his two rows of sharp teeth poking out.

His clothing, however, was more befitting of a warrior than the antichrist or, for that matter, the antichrist in disguise. In their younger days, Pip remembered his ever-present black turtleneck and pants, and how that combined with his vicious scowl gave him the attention of the goths and emos. Now, he wore spiked shoulder pads, with simple silver armor and a helmet clutched underneath his arm. Beside him, a nervous guard clutched two bloodied spears, one likely being Damien’s.  

“Oh, so this is your plan now? To bring me him?” Damien said, glaring at his father with contempt. Puberty had done his voice justice, deepening it to a more natural pitch than the nasally, squeaky one Pip remembered from the fourth grade.

“Son, Pip’s here to teach you how to be a gentleman,” Satan said slowly, and had the blonde step in front of him. Shyly, Pip complied until he stood beside Satan, and after a push, on the side closest to Damien.

Damien’s brows furrowed briefly, before he snorted.

Pip stuck his hand out. “It’s nice to see you again,” he greeted, smile slight.

Damien just looked Pip up-and-down with a sneer, paying particularly close attention to his feet. He ignored Pip’s greeting to turn to his father instead.

“ _He’s_ going to teach _me_ to be a _gentleman_? How could he when he can’t even dress like one?”

Perhaps it was the shock of being astral projected through dimensions and being walked through Hell, but the whole time Pip never realized he was only wearing socks. More so, that he was wearing white socks with his black slacks and maroon button down. The mismatch was absolutely horrendous! Pip found his face quickly warming from embarrassment.

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry, I had forgotten to…” he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence when everyone was now looking at him. Specifically, Damien Thorn, whose dark blue eyes burned with the same intensity as they did back in the third grade.

Pip visibly wilted under Damien’s acuity, gazing down at his white socks, which stood in stark contrast to the dark rock he stood on.

“So he isn’t dressed for the occasion. The same could be said for you, son,” Satan pointed out, drawing the attention back to Damien’s state of dress.

Damien pressed his lips tightly together, and tore his gaze from Pip to glare up at his father. Pointedly, he shoved his helmet into the guard beside him, who took the equipment with minor juggling. The two staffs were now paired in one hand, the helmet in the other.

The next to go were the shoulder pads, which the guard narrowly missed as Damien used his abilities to lift and drop the equipment. The rest of the armor came off in the same way, floating off Damien and into the struggling guard’s arms, revealing the tight black clothing that the the antichrist wore underneath. It seemed less had changed than Pip thought.

Satan had his arms crossed and hoof tapping throughout the performance, and when it finished with Damien mimicking his father’s actions, the Prince of Hell glared. “Don’t think our discussion of your extracurricular activities is finished. Beelzaboot anytime now is going to come knocking at my door about this, and I fully expect you to answer it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Damien dismissed, looking off to the side.

Silence permeated the room, and Pip felt awkward standing there, shifting foot-to-foot, picking at the ends of his sleeves.

Finally, after a long moment of Satan and Damien’s silent standoff, it was Demonius who broke the silence. “Sir, the lessons.”

“What? Oh yeah, right.” Satan cleared his throat. “Son, your friend Pip here will be teaching you lessons on etiquette, whether you like it or not. I fully expect for him to have your full attention, and for you to behave. Got it?”

Damien’s unimpressed look made Pip’s blush rise anew. _“Friend?”_ Pip heard him mumble. “Yeah, like hell Frenchy here could teach me anything about being a gentleman.” Further pouring salt into an open wound, he asked Pip, “Tell me, as a gentleman, how would you advise I eat my frog legs?”

“By shutting your bloody mouth!” Pip snapped, and the outburst was enough to start everyone into taking a step back.

Damien blinked at the blonde, dumbfounded, as Pip’s hands slapped over his mouth. The hot thrum of anger turned cold. Taking a step back, hands lowering, he turned to Satan with his eyes downcast.

“I am dreadfully sorry, but I think it’s about time I be taken home.”

Satan raised his hands placatingly. “Now, let’s not be hasty.”

“I can escort myself out then,” Pip said, and made good on his word when he started towards the door.

That, at least, snapped Satan into action. In a blur of fire, he manifested before Pip just as he made it out the door. Pip jumped when an eight feet giant suddenly stood over him.

“Now hold on! Please, you can’t go now, kid. The lessons haven’t even started!”

“I think I made a fool of myself enough times already, Satan sir.” Pip could not look Satan in the eyes when he mumbled, _“I thought I was done with doing that…”_

More clearly, Pip said, “Now if you would, could you please astral-project me back to my body?”

“Not yet. Please, come with me. We’ll talk.”

“I don’t wish to go back in there,” Pip politely argued.

Satan shook his head. “I’m not taking you back there, but somewhere else. Now come.”

Without someone to send him back to his body, Pip was forced into following Satan deeper into the castle. They return to the atrium, to which they headed down another corridor, making several turns and passing by the occasional guard stationed at their post. Finally, after several minutes of walking in silence, Satan held open a door to reveal...a living room?

Indeed, what he saw was just that, for a turquoise couch was situated inside a room with blue walls and healthy green plants inside pots. Above the couch, a window offered a view of Satan’s castle from a distance.

“Please, come in,” Satan offered, gesturing into the room.

Although the paradox made him weary, Pip carefully stepped inside the room.

Satan closed the door behind them, and went around Pip to the couch. Once seated, he patted the space next to him as a prompt for Pip to sit. Wearily, Pip lowered himself to the couch, sitting on the edge with his back ramrod straight.

Beside him, Satan sighed. “So, you must be wondering why I brought you here.” His voice was softer now, in complete contrast to the Satan Pip saw last night and earlier in the meeting room.

“Yes, that would be a good place to start.”

“Well actually, I should first apologize for scaring you last night. It wasn’t cool of me, and I’m sorry for that. But you have to understand, I _really_ needed you to do this, for many reasons. You see, relations are rough between Heaven and Hell, as you could imagine, but have only escalated in the last decade due to some... _stuff_ . I can’t afford to go at war again, not since God started allowing more than just the Mormons into Heaven and building a bigger army because of it, and Damien...he has to answer for some things he’s done as the antichrist to keep the peace, but with him being so... _him_ , I’ve been pushing it back. But he’s only gotten worse! And Michael and his band of angels are breathing down my neck to get answers from him. I bet I can hold them off for a little bit longer, just enough time for you to teach Damien, but not much longer than that.”

It took Pip a moment to digest all that Satan said. “Alright...Well, all is forgiven, but what was it then that you needed to tell me?”

“I needed to take you out of the castle and away from any prying ears, so I could explain to you...Well, the reason for Damien’s behavior.”

“Do go on.”

It was here that Satan looked remorseful. “I need you to understand that Damien’s behavior is, well, _my fault_. Damien never did have the greatest role models growing up,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “You see, Suddam Hussein and I were together, back when Damien was younger and living here in the seventh layer of Hell. So, on one hand, he had Suddam -- a manipulative, abusive, disrespectful asshole -- then me, who couldn’t even stand up against him, for role models. So, he..he often saw Suddam’s abuse, and sometimes, was a victim of his verbal abuse as well. I tried to separate him from all that by sending him topside to his human mother, which helped some. However, by then the damage had been done.”

“And it’s been how long since you and Suddam broke up?”

“Around eight years...”

“Eight years! Good heavens, I do not mean to sound like I am dismissing his past abuses, but I say, it’s about time he starts owning up to his behavior, don’t you?”

Satan looked unsure at first. “He thinks it’s what’s right.”

“Then he needs to learn that it is, in fact, not right to be a disrespectful bully.”

“And that’s why we need you Pip! Did you not see him back there? He was absolutely speechless after your outburst! That’s why I chose you for this.”

“I still don’t understand that bit either,” Pip grumbled. When he caught Satan’s earnest stare, he deflated with a sigh. “You really need me, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

Another sigh.

“...Very well, I will help you. But! You need to lay down rules for our lessons. If I’m going to be teaching Damien anything, there needs to be rules.”

“Of course.”

“Number one, he needs to stop associating me with the French! I am nothing like those frogs, and he better realize it!”

“Uh-huh…”

“Second, Damien can’t use his powers to threaten me or to hurt me. Astral body or not, I don’t appreciate being threatened very much.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Third, I need you to stop making excuses for him. It’s only allowing for his bad behavior to continue. Maybe talk to him about his experiences, but don’t let it lie and become fodder for how he treats people.”

“Okay...I’ll give it a shot. But no promises.”

Pip nodded. “That’s all I ask for, is for one to try.”

After the establishment of the rules, Satan was the one to escort him back to the rock circle. Pip was positioned in the middle of the circular clearing and told to wait. Shifting foot-to-foot, he watched as Satan stopped outside the circle, and raised his hands in the air.

“Now what happens?” Pip projected.

Satan grinned. “Now, you go up.” Then the petroglyphs begun to glow red in the wake of Satan’s chanting. White light swallowed him and swiped him off his feet.

Being astral-projected back into one’s body felt similar to deep-diving and rising back to the surface. There was a rush, the pressure of deeper waters dispelling, and feeling weightless right before breaching the surface.

Waking up, however, was like a falling dream. His heart beat into his throat and suddenly he awoke with a full body jolt as soul and body collided. A second later, his seven o’ clock alarm started beeping.

Pip breathed hard, feeling the most awake he’d ever felt in his life in that brief moment, as his heart raced and his hands shook. Scanning the room, he saw the sunlight filtering in through the window, and glancing up, he noted the distance between him and the ceiling being back to normal. With a great sigh of relief, he rolled over and dismissed the alarm.

That morning before his shower, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he saw three, angry claw marks stretched across his stomach, the same place Zazul slashed at him. If he had any doubts about what had happened last night, the scratches were clear evidence to the contrary. He shivered, remembering how Zazul held no reservations over proving his point, swiping out and through him. What if he had been wrong? What if Zazul’s physical attacks on his astral body did more than scratch him, but damage his soul?

He didn’t want to think further on it. Stepping into the shower, he quickly washed down, paying close attention to the red lines scoring his stomach.

The day passed like most days did; nothing drastic had shifted. The sun still rose in the east and set in the west, the news channel still droned on about politics, which celebrity did what, with the occasional interceding report of strange activity in South Park, and he still did his schoolwork as was the norm.

However, atypical was him zoning out to thoughts over Damien, and what Satan had to say about his behavior. At least it explained his actions as a child, but from the sounds of it, his powers as the antichrist had gone to his head.

Then there was the matter of just how he was going to teach Damien anything about etiquette when he was so very close to the extreme end of ungentlemanlike. During his lunchtime, in which he enjoyed leftovers of last night’s spaghetti, he begun preparing a list of lessons.

Appropriating his past lessons from the London boarding school to his current task filled him with both nostalgia and remorse, in memory of his old friend Pocket. Pocket had the patience of saint, dealing with Pip on that first day. At least he was a better student than Damien would ever be.

Imagining Pocket losing his cool composure, a feat Pip never could quite master when it came to certain French-related insults, had him in a fit of giggles. Damien would surely be the one to have finally make Pocket break, that was for sure.

Laughter subsiding, he begun preparing his list.   

If he was going to teach Damien anything, he was going to have to be a gentleman about it.

 

~*~*~

 

That night, his fall into Hell was not as dramatic. Gandhi even passed by at one point to wish him luck, as he descended down to the seventh layer of Hell. Ever present, was Zazul’s grip on his shoulder, which only manifested into being once Pip had landed. This time, on his feet.

“Come, Satan and Damien await,” was Zazul’s greeting.

Much like before, Pip was later transferred over to Demonius, and lead to the same room inside the castle. Inside the meeting room, Satan sat in the biggest chair, tapping his index finger on the table, while Damien sat two few chairs down, arms crossed and his back to the door.

Pip entered the room behind Demonius, a small smile on his face.

“My lord, I give you Pip.”

“Ah, Pip, I’m so glad to see you. Please, do come in.”

Seeing as he was already in the room, Pip took that as permission to approach the table. He ignored Damien as his head followed him as he passed to stand by Satan’s seat.

“Satan, I have compiled a list of lessons I will be teaching Damien these coming days. I hope to accomplish each lesson on schedule, and would like if on the days for eating etiquette that we have plates and silverware set out.”

“Oh, those lessons will actually not be needed,” Satan said, checking over the list. “Prioritize social and business etiquette, instead.”

“Not teach table manners? But that’s part of being a gentleman.”

“It just is not needed right now.”

“...Alright then. I will cross that off, and move some other lessons around as needed.” Pip took his paper back, carefully folding it and slipping it back into his pocket. Looking up, he turned and met Damien’s glare.

Pip took a deep, relaxing breath. _‘Here it goes then.’_

Pip smiled and stuck out his hand. “Good afternoon, Damien.”

Damien rose an unimpressed brow, not moving to uncross his arms and take the proffered hand. “I see you remembered your shoes this time.”

He let the comment slide. Determinedly, he did not let his hand drop. “A gentleman introduces and says his goodbyes with a handshake.”

For that, he received an eye roll. However, after a moment, Damien uncrossed an arm to grasp Pip’s. Although it was caustic in every sense of the word, as Damien made a great show of raising and dropping their hands, from the way he saw Satan smile, it was progress.

Releasing his hand, Pip pulled out the chair beside Damien, and sat down with his hands in his lap.

“Now, to begin: a gentleman’s hands in repose belong at his sides while walking and standing, and in his lap while sitting. It’s uncouth for a man to have his arms crossed--”to this, he sent a pointed look at Damien’s crossed arms “--his hands in his pockets, or to have his hands clasped before or behind him all the time. Occasionally is fine, but for our purposes, I ask that you place your palms on your thighs, please.”

Damien looked dubiously from Pip to Satan, his jaw dropped and glare everpresent. His hands dug into his upper arms. “Father, are you expecting me to take these lessons seriously?”

“Damien, for your purposes, I am telling you to do as he says,” Satan ordered. To Pip’s amusement, he was following Pip’s instructions as well, as his hands now rested on his legs rather than the table.

“You can’t screw this up.”

That seemed to set Damien in motion, because after looking at Pip for a long moment, eyes less like daggers now, he uncrossed his arms and set them in his lap.

This made Pip’s smile brighten. “Very good. Now that, that is out of the way, today you will be learning about social etiquette.”

Although Damien’s demeanor didn’t mimic his enthusiasm over learning, Pip still pressed on. “First, I want to impart on you the importance of showing simple acts of politeness. Saying _‘please’ ‘thank you’_ and _‘hello, nice to meet you’_ to people will warm them up to you, and is highly becoming of a gentleman. Shall we role play?”

Before Damien could respond, Satan cut in, “I think that would do well for him.”

“Right-o, then. Damien, pretend we have just met.”

“Hello, nice to meet you,” he monotoned, not meeting Pip’s eyes as he did.

“Gentleman shake hands with those they meet, and make eye contact when talking,” Pip recited. “Try again, please.”

Damien’s head thunked back against the chair. There was a pause, as he gazed petulantly down at the table. It was like he had to psyche himself up for the task, for after a heavy exhale, he sat up straight and turned to Pip with his hand outstretched. With his blue eyes concentrated on Pip, the blonde could feel his cheeks pink from the earnestness. It was a battle to keep their eyes connected.

Still, he took the outstretched hand with a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Pip.” This time, he spoke persuasively and with fervor.

“Nice to meet you too, Damien,” he responded, and let go of Damien’s hand after they shook. That intense gaze returned to the table, and Pip suddenly felt like he could breathe.  

“Now then, let’s move on to _‘thank you’_ and _‘please.’_ ” Pip scooted out of his seat, and turned to Damien for him to do the same. “Please rise.”

“I would rather sit,” Damien fought. He crossed his arms again.

Pip took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as to keep his irritation at bay. “I am teaching you lessons on being a gentleman, Damien. Now please stand.”

“Damien, do as Pip says,” Satan said, a warning in his voice.

Damien must have picked up on it too, for he groaned and used his powers to push the chair back, like a man scooting out a lady’s chair. He rose slowly, and pushed his chair back into the table. His arms were crossed, and he stared down his nose at Pip with a crooked frown.

“Very good, now I want you to do the _‘hello, nice to meet you’_ bit again, but afterwards ask me to please have a seat, and thank me for coming.”

If possible, Damien looked even more irritated after receiving Pip’s instructions. “Are you trying to rub it in that I’m getting gentleman-y lessons?”

Pip’s smile fell. “No, I am simply teaching you about social etiquette. These are the kind of things you would do at a business meeting, per se, or at a formal social gathering.”

Damien looked skeptical, narrowing his eyes at Pip. A throat clearing behind them got Damien going, however, as he unlatched a hand to hold out to Pip. The movement was stiff, robot-like in its forcefulness, but progress was progress. Pip took his hand, smile returning, and bid a cheerful greeting.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” Damien said stiltedly. His hand then swung outwards towards the chair Pip had been seated in. “Please, have a seat.”

“Oh, thank you.” Pip did so, and after a moment of hovering, Damien fell into his. Pip noticed his fingers creating indents in his upper arms from how hard he gripped, and momentarily he feared the teen would rip his sleeves. Clearing his throat, he nodded for Damien to continue with his dialogue.

“Thank you. For coming here.” Damien was tense, teeth obviously grounding together, hackles raised as he watched Pip clap beside him.

“Good show!” Pip congratulated. Where he was seated, Satan nodded approvingly. “Now, as you did with my instructions, for any gentleman, it’s a must that you become a good listener. Listen more than you talk though, and engage by asking questions. Oh! And remember what people say so you can bring it up later. Through doing this, you are showing genuine interest in someone.”

“And if I don’t like the person?”

“We all have to work with people we don’t like,” Pip said. Their eyes met and held for a moment, before Damien glanced away, lips pursed.

“Now with that out of the way, and I am sure you have heard this one before: if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.  Saying bad things to or behind a person’s back will have people associating you with negativity.” He shot Damien a pointed look. Damien’s eyes shuttered.

“Are you listening, son?” Satan asked, and received a glare in response.

“Yes, I am,” he gritted out, and when Pip glanced at his crossed arms this time, he saw Damien’s hands in fists.  

Hesitantly, Pip continued. “I think as practice, you should say something positive about someone or something.”

Damien’s mouth opened, as if he wanted to ask _‘Do I have to?’_ , but closed it after a look from Satan. Pressing his lips together, he scanned the room, then over to Satan and Pip. He squinted his eyes as he did, as if in deep concentration. Finally, to the table he said, “This table is nice.”

Pip heard Satan mumble a confused _“Nice?_ ”, as he gazed warmly towards Damien. “Very well done!”

Damien turned his head further to the right, hiding Pip from his peripherals. “Thank you,” he grumbled.

Pip eyes widened when he heard that. It seems his lesson was really paying off then. “You’re very welcome!” he said, pleased. After a moment of thought, he stood from his seat to face Satan. “I think we should leave it at that for today. I have more to teach on social etiquette, but today I taught enough. From here, we build up.”

Satan stood as well. “Yes, thank you, and--”here, he stuck out his hand towards Pip, and smiled sheepishly”--it seems I had a few things to learn from this, as well.”

Pip took his hand happily. “I’m glad to have been able to teach you both, then.” After, he and Satan turned to Damien, eyes expectant.

Damien noticed their stare, and huffed. Chair scooting out from under him by it own, he stood. Reluctantly, his hand came out to shake Pip’s.

“Have a good evening,” Pip bid.

“Thanks,” He then let go of Pip’s hand and watched as Pip left with Demonius.

~*~*~

 

“Today we will be learning about business etiquette,” Pip said.

He was in the usual room, with Satan at the head of the table, Pip on his right side, and Damien in the seat next to him. Behind them by the entrance, Demonius stood, a silent observer to the lessons.

With some prodding from Satan, Damien had stood from his chair to shake his hand. It was still done stiffly, and most likely put on; Pip imagined Damien’s frame of thinking was that cooperation was key to the lessons ending.

He tried not to let the thought bother him as he returned the gesture, smiling as he said, “Good evening, Damien.”

Damien frowned before sitting back down. His chair slid under him on its own.

Sitting beside him now, Pip was happy to note that both he and Satan had their hands in their laps already. Although Damien leaned back with his butt closer to the end of the chair, he took it as a sign.

“Now, with business etiquette, it's good to look someone in the eye and give their hand a firm shake, especially when you meet. It makes for a good first impression, and shows one that you have a good character. Damien, I would like us to reprise our role play from yesterday. This time, give me a firm handshake and keep eye contact. “

“I did,” Damien said belligerently.

“That you did, but on the second try. Let’s get it on the first try, shall we?”

Then he turned fully in his seat towards Damien. “Hello,” he greeted.

“Hello,” Damien grit out. Pip watched him breathe in and out slowly. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then upon his initiative, they shook, his grip firm.

Pip winced. Maybe a little too firm. Still, when they let go, he said, “Very good!”

“Whatever,” Damien dismissed, leaning back. He moved his arms as if to cross them, but a quick grunt from Satan, and he stopped to settle them stiffly back into his lap.

“Next, we discuss how to behave. First, no profanity. The occasional curse is fine, but to an excess is unmannerly. With that, I must also tell you to kill with _kindness_ . You will always get further by being nice and treating people with respect and politeness, than if you get angry. Also, make sure to stand up for yourself _and_ others. Not out of self-interest, but out of your own beliefs and values.”

Although he turned his head away to do it, Damien gave a silent snort, ignoring the glare from his father as he did.

Pip sighed. “I understand that this is Hell, and you guys do things differently that you would up on Earth. However, remember, you will most likely end up interacting with someone you don’t like, from Hell or not. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stand up for them, given that. Standing up for someone in a business setting could be of more benefit to you than not. And I mean honestly, if you see a person being treated unfairly, would you really be silent and let it happen? Certainly not, because the right course of action would be to stand up for that person.”

The look Damien sent Pip had him snapping his mouth shut.

The third grade. Being hit, spat on, and yelled at. Then there was Damien, lashing out with his powers when he too became a target.

At the time, Pip forgot his own lesson. On the insistence of his past teachings and Mr. Mackey’s words, he killed with kindness, but forgot what made one of a stronger character: Standing up for oneself, and for others.

His scenario had hit way too close to home.

Pip pulled on the collar of his button down, suddenly feeling as if it was cinching his neck. Shame had his cheeks flooding with color. “My apologies.” He took a deep breath. “It seems I didn’t learn my lesson either.”

“Hm,” Damien sounded back at him. A smirk grew on his face.

“It’s something we can both work on,” Pip said.

“You do that. I am fine,” Damien retorted.  He did not bother to follow Pip’s past teachings with placing his hands on his lap, for they were now crossed as he stared the teen down.

The deep flush of shame Pip had felt was turning to one of irritation. Another deep breath, in and out. “Maybe you’re fine now with defending yourself, but what of others?”

“They shouldn’t be wuses and stand up for themselves.”

“Damien…” It was Satan.

“What? It’s true.”

Pip smoothed down the wrinkles in his pants. “Damien, there’s something else you will need to work on to become a gentleman.” He paused, gathering the courage to continue. “Your pride.”

“My pride?” Damien repeated.

Pip resisted shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Your pride is what’s going to hold you back in all of this, Damien. You’re too defensive, and need to practice mindfulness.”

“I am _not_ prideful,” Damien snapped.

Pip couldn’t help but think, _‘A classic response from someone whose been called out.’_

“It’s alright to have pride in oneself, but to an excess, and you’ll begin to be both detrimental to yourself and others,” Pip explained, foregoing Damien’s denials. He had a lesson to teach, after all.

However, before he could continue, Damien crossed over into his space to snarl: “Who's to say you don’t have too much pride? You act like you know everything.”

Pip leaned away. “I’m sorry if that’s how I come across, but you must understand, I am your instructor on being a gentleman because you don’t know how to be. Which it’s okay not to know! For instance, I don’t know all that there is to Hell, but you do, because you’ve experienced it, just as I went to a boarding school that taught me how to be a gentleman.”

Damien did not look swayed, the exact opposite really. Pip sighed.

“Look, I’m not trying to act as if I am superior to you. I do not feel that I am, and I really would like if we were equals. But so far, you treat as if I am below you.”

Damien snorted. “That’s because you are.”

“If we’re going to go into technicalities, you’re below me. I’m on Earth, you’re in Hell,” Pip stated.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pip saw Satan’s eyes go back and forth between them, as if he was observing a tennis match. In many ways, Pip supposed he was.

Damien had no retort for this, and just stared Pip in the eyes. Pip met his gaze unwaveringly.

Finally, Damien leaned back into his own space, but his body remained turned towards Pip. “You and dad are just alike,” he said, breaking their stand-off. “Telling me what to do, thinking I can’t handle myself, telling me I need to change. But you know what I say when you tell me I need to get rid of my pride? _Fuck you_ ,” he growled, punctuating his profanity by slamming his fist down on the table. “I do not need to change. Maybe if you two weren’t such pussies and could handle me, then you wouldn’t be saying anything.” His eyes widened slightly. “There’s a thought: Maybe it's you who needs to change, and toughen the fuck up.”

At the end of Damien’s tirade, Pip was shaking his head. “Look Damien, think what you want. I’ll continue doing these lessons as long as Satan wants, but the fact is, we’re never going to get anywhere when _you’re_ not getting anywhere. Overcoming pride means _listening_ , _asking_ questions, _admitting_ to your imperfections, and _accepting_ constructive criticism.” He punctuated each point with raising finger on his hand. “I know you don’t want to do this, that you feel as if nothing is wrong with the way you treat others. And...Well, I’ll continue to spend my time coming here every night, teaching you everything there is to be a gentleman, but when I’m done, you will have learned _nothing_.”

When Pip stood to go, Damien responded: “ _Don’t_ come back then. If my personality is too much for you, then _leave_ .” He made a _shoo-shoo_ motion with his hand. He smirked at Pip’s affronted look. “What are you fucking waiting for, an exit pass? Go. I can handle everything all on my own.”

“I will see you tomorrow night, Damien,” Pip said, and left with Demonius out the door, ignoring Damien’s subsequent shouts.

_“I said don’t fucking come back! Pride my ass! Go, leave, never come back--!”_

~*~*~

Damien’s shouts stuck with him throughout the day, and Pip’s mind kept racing with different scenarios on how he could have better handled the situation. _Maybe if he did this, maybe if he had said that,_ was how his mind went.

Those scenarios of a better outcome had stolen his thoughts the moment he woke up. He had sat in bed, staring off into space, until reaching out to trace the petals of his lone red rose, situated in a glass vase on his bedside. It was a practiced motion, one that he started ever since finding the rose in his desk at elementary school; it was soothing to him when he was anxious or frustrated, feeling the soft and velvety texture of the rose beneath his fingertips.

However, it was a weekday. He had schoolwork to complete. Eventually, he had to get up, and when he finally did, he took the vase with him to dump out the old water inside the bathroom sink, and refilled it with fresh water. He left the vase on his bedside table  and went about his day as per usual.

School took longer that day, as like the night Satan visited his home, he kept getting distracted by his thoughts. His frustration must have been evident, for by the time dinner rolled around and Margie came home, she had asked him if it was the nightmares again.

“No, just a long day,” Pip had told her, and the same to Frank when had had asked him what was wrong at dinner. His parents had shot each other a look, but did not press anymore, instead making conversation about the day’s events.

When it was night again, he had to swipe a melatonin pill from the kitchen in order to finally fall asleep. After that, it did not take long before he was out, and found himself floating upwards inside his bedroom. It was weird being there, outside time, watching as light flickered and a fly on his window flew in slow motion towards the closed window in search of freedom.

He took the moment before Zazul unavoidably pulled him down to fulfill a curiosity of his, and that was to see himself. Spinning in air to face himself, it was not his body that caught his attention, but a red glow off to his left.

 _“What in heaven's name,”_ Pip whispered, trying to swim closer and investigate, but then he felt Zazul’s familiar grip.

 _“Come,”_ he heard Zazul hiss, and he was dragged down to Hell.

Damien did not get up to greet Pip when he entered the room. He was beside Satan now, who looked up from glaring at Damien to send Pip an apologetic look. He opened his mouth, most likely to say sorry for yesterday, but Pip shook his head, shutting him down. Today was a new day. He was sure Damien heard and would remember his words, just as Pip remembered his. After all, in Pip’s experience of being criticized, it was the criticism of one’s character that stuck to one like glue.

Pip sat down beside Damien, and bid him a soft _‘good afternoon’_ despite the aura of irritation emanating from the antichrist’s every pore. At least he received a grunt in response; although, it could have been a stunted growl, as he saw Satan’s body jolt and heard his hoof clank against the floor, as if he had moved it.

Pip cleared this throat. The tension in the room felt like a physical manifestation, choking him and making him feel robotic in his movements. Clearing his throat again, he dug through his pant’s pocket for his list of lesson plans, and made an ‘ah’ noise when he found the day’s agenda.

“Today, we will be working on business etiquette some more. I already told you the importance of keeping eye contact and giving a firm handshake when greeting people…” He paused “...And the importance of not swearing and standing up for yourself.”

“Ah, so something I did do.”

He ignored Damien’s comment, not wanting to start anything. “So all there is left to do in that area is for me to teach you business dialogue.”

“Why would I need to know that?” Damien grumbled.

Satan answered in place of Pip. “You have important meetings coming up that you can’t afford to screw up.”

Damien huffed, glancing at Pip before centering his look to the table.

Pip took that as his turn to continue. “So, it’s important, of course, to listen, be polite and nice to others, as I’ve taught. However, it’s especially important to voice your opinions respectfully. Make your opinions sounds like that -- your opinions, and not fact.” He paused, thinking of an example. “Say for instance, you don’t agree with the amount of work that’s required for a deadline, and think the deadline should be moved back. You would say, _‘it seems to me’_ and _‘I suggest’_ in stating your opinion.”

Beside him, Damien head had turned closer in his direction. Pip took it for the sign it was and went on.

“Now, if you completely disagree with something one has said, you don’t tell them their opinion is wrong. You say, _‘I respectfully disagree’_.”

“Oh, so when you told me I need a personality adjustment, I say _I respectfully disagree_. Got it”

Pip fell silent. It seems Damien wanted to do this now.

“Well, _it looked to m_ e that your pride is getting in the way of you learning. I then suggested you work on it.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Damien repeated.

“As I said Damien, I will continue these lessons until I have gone through everything. It’s your choice on whether you absorb anything I say or not.”

Damien rolled his eyes. Under his breath, Pip heard him say, “ _I disagree…_ ” again.   

Pip stood, stuffing his notepaper back into his pocket. “I can stop for today, if you would like.”

“Damien...” Satan growled, eyes squinted at his son.

Damien sighed, and curled his index finger. Pip’s chair moved forward and hit the back of his knees, hard enough to make him fall backwards. Pip landed back in his seat with a yelp, and glared at Damien once he sat up.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” he said.

“You’re not excused. Continue.” Damien paused, then added, ” _Please._ ”

“Do that that again, though, and I am out of here.” Pip wiped his hands across his lap, as if brushing off dust. “Now, where were we….?”

“At _‘I respectfully disagree’_?” Damien supplied, smirking.

Pip narrowed his eyes at the antichrist. “Yes, that we were.” He adjusted his shirt’s collar. “But moving on from that, if something someone said is ever unclear to you, just ask them to repeat themselves. Like, _‘Could you elaborate?’_ Then, if you see a flaw in a project, plan, what have you, ask them, _‘How would you go about resolving that_?’”

The lesson continued like this for awhile, with Pip providing examples of business dialogue. When he was done, he turned to Satan and asked, “I am done for today. Satan, could you escort me out please?” He sent the demon an imploring look, which Satan caught.

Satan blinked, and raised an eyebrow even, but followed suit.  “Oh uh certainly -- um, Demonius, I got this alright? You can go now.”

By the door, Demonius frowned. “If you’re sure, my lord.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, don’t worry. I’ve done this before.” Satan conducted Pip out of the room. All the while, Damien watched them suspiciously.

The two were silent as they left castle. Briefly, Satan dismissed Zazul so they could continue towards the rock circle. Once halfway there, Pip stopped.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Pip asked Satan, arms akimbo.

Satan continued walking forward a few steps before he stopped too. Turning to Pip, he said, “I’m working on it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not easy.”

“Neither is this for him, but at least he’s showing up and trying. The least you could do is do it for him.”

“Hey, I said no promises, remember?”

“He’s your son. You owe it to him to talk about this, promises or not. Talk about the past.”

Satan looked away. “I know you’re right, but it’s just hard. I don’t like thinking of those times.”

“But clearly it’s on your mind a lot. This could help.” He paused. “Take this from someone who knows. Talking about it could really help him.”

At that, Satan looked back at him. The tense line of shoulders sagged with his sigh, and he nodded at Pip in agreement. “You’re right. I do owe it to him. Do you really think...that this could help?”

“To be frank with you,Satan sir, I don’t know if it will. But, I think it could help your relationship with him, and help you both in healing.”

That was enough to have Satan puffing up his chest, determination written across his features. “Alright, I will do it tonight. Thank you Pip,” he said, smiling at the blonde.

Pip smiled back. “Phillip, if you would. I like when my friends call me Phillip.”

“Phillip it is then.”    

~*~*~

Pip had almost forgotten about the mysterious red glow until the very next night, when he was settling back into bed and spotted his rose.

Bewildered, he plucked it from the vase, and turn it every which way. It had to be what was glowing, as lighting flicked, and his alarm clock showed neon green digits, not red.  So the question was why?

That night, when Pip went to the castle, thoughts of his rose fled his mind when he noticed that Demonius had company. Satan stood beside him, and when he spotted Pip approaching, he smiled and waved. Pip waved back, curious, and moved faster to reach him. Now behind him, Zazul grumbled about him finally moving his feet.

“Hello Satan, sir.”

“I did it Pip,” were Satan’s first words to Pip. “I did as you said and talked to Damien.”

“You did?” Pip asked, wondering if he should feel pleased or not. “How did it go?”

“It...well, he might have burned down the left wing of my house and ripped the roof off, but I would say it went relatively well, considering.” A smile was slow to form across his face. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

Pip turned bashful at that, rubbing the back of his head. “It was no problem at all, really. ” The two of them started walking towards the room, with Demonius following several steps behind, a silent bystander. “Do you feel better now, having talking to him?”

“I feel great! Better than I expected, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” He puffed out his chest, but deflated after a moment’s thought. “I think it’s going to be awhile before all is forgiven, though.”

“And that was the first step to forgiveness,” Pip told him comfortingly.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Satan said, and once they were outside the door to the meeting room, he held the door open for Pip to enter. Pip thanked him, and entered.

Pip couldn’t say that lesson following Satan and Damien’s talk resulted in a great transformation. Damien did sit straighter with his hands in his lap, but he was also quieter than he usually was, distant almost, and unusually compliant. Pip wasn’t sure if he was actually getting through to him, suspecting that his words were going through one pointed ear and out the other. By the end of the lesson, he was getting mixed feelings on how well the session actually went. He got up, shaking hands with Satan, and after a momentary pause, walked over to Demonius. He was about to head out when he heard a chair scape against the floor. Turning, he saw Damien standing by the side of his chair, eyes downcast.

“Thank you,” he said, voice still without its cheer. His eyes met Pip’s briefly, before flicking away to somewhere over his left shoulder. A flush started to overtake his cheeks. “You’re a...You’re a good teacher.” The last part was muttered, but was just loud enough for Pip to hear.

Thunderstruck, he almost forgot to pass on a “Thank you” to Damien before he was escorted back to the entrance of the castle by Demonius.

From there, Zazul lead him back to the horned stone circle.

He was still in a state of disbelief when he woke up to his alarm that morning.

~*~*~

The next lesson, Damien was more receptive.

“...So, small talk can be asking someone how they’re doing, a statement about the weather, and so on. We could practice if you would like.”

“Okay,” Damien said.

“Alright! I’ll start then.” He grinned at the antichrist. “How are you doing today, Damien?”

Damien was silent, his eyes lowered and gazing off to the right. If Pip had to guess, he would say Damien was deep in thought.

Pip tilted his head, trying to capture his gaze. “Damien?” he asked, his voice soft.

The antichrist looked back at him, meeting his eyes with an unreadable look on his face. “I’m doing fine,” he said. Licking his lips, he stiffly asked, “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing splendid! Thank you for asking,” Pip said earnestly, gazing at Damien warmly. A pink flush overtook Damien’s cheekbones, and Pip quickly could feel his face warming too.

“How’s the weather up on Earth?” Damien inquired, beating Pip in continuing their conversation.

Pip laughed. “Well, I live in North Park now, but it’s definitely not much better than South Park. Still snowy and cold, as per normal.”

“Much different from Hell then.”

“Yes, that’s for sure.” Pip couldn’t help it when his smile grew, scrunching his eyes. “Pardon me, as this isn’t very gentlemanly of me to say so, but I must say, I don’t understand how you can wear long sleeves and pants in Hell.”

Damien smirked, shrugging. “You get used to it.”

“I suppose one would have to, especially if they’ve been dammed for all eternity here.”

Damien had nothing more to say to that besides a nod, but his smirk did not fall. Pip decided to end the chat, and announced, “That went very well! You’re good at small talk.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Damien stuttered, and squinted his eyes closed, frustration evident in the furrow of his brows. In his lap, his hands paced up and down his thighs.

“You’re very welcome.”

The lesson ended soon after that, and Damien even made sure to shake his hand and bid him a good afternoon before Pip left the room.

Leaving Hell, there were no doubts in his mind. _That_ had been progress.

From there, he was going to make sure that little bud blossomed.

~*~*~

 

“...So, Damien, come over here and we can practice.”

It was a little into the next night’s session, with Pip doing a review of his past lessons. However, instead of Pip telling Damien with supplementary demonstrations on how to be a gentleman, Pip had Damien mainly act out his past instructions.  

Damien did as Pip asked, and went over to him with his hands in his pants pockets. He eyed Pip wearily, but Pip only smiled warmly back at him.

They had been through small talk again, as a way to warm up Damien for his review. Pip had come into the room and immediately started the lesson by greeting Damien and asking how he was doing.

It had been awkward at first, with long silences as Pip waited for Damien to put his words in order. If Pip had to guess, Damien was unused to making conversation without feeling he had to be on the defense. However, it came quicker with repetition. At one point, Pip had been shocked when Damien had asked him suddenly what his favorite kind of tea was, admitting shyly to remembering Pip asking for the hot beverage during the baseball game with Kyle, Stan, and Cartman. Of course, Pip told him Earl Gray.

“Now Damien, I would like to practice introducing ourselves to each other. Remember, this is an important first step. Firm hand shake, keep eye contact, and most importantly, be nice.”

Once Damien had nodded, Pip held his hand out to Damien. The other took a marginal step back to regain the distance between them, but retraced his step after a brief pause. Slowly, he clasped his hands in Pip’s.

“Hello,” Pip greeted, shaking it. Damien’s grip was firm, but not too so, and his blue eyes captured Pip’s brown.

“Hello,” Damien said back.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Phillip Pirrip,” Pip said. “Phillip is what I prefer to be called.” It was here Pip paused, before adding, “ _Especially_ by my friends.”

Damien stopped in shaking.

“Friends?” he parroted.

“Friends,” Pip confirmed.

Damien was silent, and in his Pip’s hand, his fingers twitched.

“My name is Damien Thorn,” he introduced. “It’s a pleasure to meet you... _Phillip_.”

Pip smiled. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

~*~*~

“Once again, I would like to thank you, Phillip, for giving my son lessons on propriety. You really made him into a gentleman,” Satan said, shaking Pip’s hand.

They were at the threshold of the castle, with Zazul standing off to the side with Demonius, waiting silently to escort Pip to the rock circle. Damien was there too, hiding behind Satan until his father stepped off to the side.

The two stared at each other silently, Damien with a frown, Pip with a smile.

Ever since the day the two reintroduced themselves, there was a shift in the way Damien behaved. As before, it was still awkward. Damien still had a ways to go before his pride didn’t get in the way of his interactions, and sometimes during their lessons, he had moments of extreme relapse that left he and Pip both frustrated. However, there were many highlights too.

Small talk had escalated into lengthier conversations, with questions being asked and answered, and both getting to know one another better like they never had before.

On days after these kinds of sessions, his parents would ask him what it was he was smiling about, grinning too when they asked.  Of course, Pip had to fib, telling them he was back in contact with someone he knew from South Park. Although his parents were happy for him, the mention of South Park did make them frown. Even so, they offered him their car on the weekends, just in case he wanted to drive up to meet the friend of his.

Pip had thanked them, finding humour in the idea of trying to find a highway to Hell.

Now, he and Damien had reached the end. Their lessons had gone on for two weeks. Pip didn’t really think it would happen, where he would ever reach the point that Damien was actually _learning_ and not just grudgingly there and cooperating for his father’s sake. Many things had happened, and Pip smiled when he saw Satan pull Damien over in front of him, and the annoyed look on the antichrist’s face because of it.

“Go on, Damien. Say goodbye.”

“I’m doing it! No need to nag,” Damien snapped. His blue eyes then turned back to Pip, and although his frown remained in place, his eyebrows communicated something else when they pinched slightly. Yet another expression that Pip was hopeless to read.

“Thank you,” Damien said.

“Thank you for having me, and being a good student.”

Damien lips twitched. “Yeah, a good student,” he repeated.

“Will I...Will I ever get to see you again?” he asked Damien, bowing his head slightly to avoid eye contact. His face felt warm.  

Satan answered that for him. “You can visit anytime. Just turn any cross you might have upside down and we’ll know.”

“Or I can come to you,” Damien cut in. His face contorted. “If that’s okay...That is.”

“That’s more than alright Damien.” Pip smiled. “I would love to have you. Just know, I have homeschooling Mondays through Fridays usually from eight to four. Anytime later or on the weekend’s would be fine.”

“Okay,” Damien said, nodding. His eyes drifted from Pip’s, and to Pip’s amusement, he was blushing again.

“I will see you later then,” Pip told Damien. To Satan, he bid, “Best of luck to you and Damien with your meetings with Heaven.”

He saw Damien’s eyes widen slightly as he shot a look up at his father, his mouth hanging open. He looked ready to say something, but with one glance at Pip, his jaw snapped shut.

Pip raised an eyebrow at the display, but turned his attention to Satan when he chuckled. “Thank you Phillip. I am sure negotiations will go fine, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad to have been of help then.”

With that, Pip said his goodbyes, and turned back once to wave to Satan and Damien when the door of the castle begun to close.

Zazul let him, waiting patiently for Pip to catch back up. From there, Pip was astral-projected back into his body.

His days were back to normal.  

~*~*~

After the end of his lessons with Damien, it took a few days before Pip’s sleep schedule returned to normal. Often, falling asleep wasn’t the issue: It was staying asleep that was. His dreams woke him, as they rose him to great heights until his bed and him asleep was a distant object in his square room. Then he dropped, and Pip would jolt awake, breathing heavily and groaning when he noticed only twenty minutes had passed.

Things were finally starting to go back to normal for him, and often he felt himself missing his night’s of being astral projected to Hell. It was ironic, being a Roman Catholic, that he would miss going to Hell. But that’s what he got, he supposed, for having lived in South Park. Strange things happen to all those who lived there, formerly or not.

Three week passed without word from Damien. He knew he might be busy with his dealings with Heaven, but...Well, he missed him.

Then one night, as he was rummaging through his bedside table drawer for his golden cross necklace to hang upside down, he was startled by a loud snap, and the sudden appearance of fire spreading across his room.

He had jumped up, cross sliding through his fingers to clang on the floor. For a moment, he thought maybe there was an explosion, but then from the fire a familiar figure emerged, stumbling over to his bed, huffing and puffing with smoke rising from his hands.

“Damien?” Pip asked, shocked.

The antichrist sat on the end of his bed, shoulders hunched, and hands resting palms up on his knees. The creases in his palms glowed a bright yellow, and a flush overtook his palms, appearing hot to the touch.

Damien’s breaths were quick, wheezing even. It took a second for Pip to realize Damien was hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, sitting down beside Damien. He left a considerable amount of space between them, both as a precaution for Damien’s burning hands and just in case he wasn’t receptive to the proximity. Bravely though, he crossed the distance by placing a comforting hand on Damien’s curved back, rubbing circles. “Focus on me alright? Deep breaths.” He exaggerated taking deep breaths, in and out. “If you can, focus on my hand too.”

It was hard to see Damien’s expression through his dark bangs, but from the way his nose was wrinkled, it was not anxiety that had him going; it was anger.

Minutes passed of Pip’s instructions, of him coaching Damien through his anger, until finally Damien’s quick breaths begun to slow. The heat of his hands calmed, yellow creases and crimson palms easing back into pale skin.

It took another minute for Damien to speak. “Pip.”

“Yes, Damien, I’m here. Are you alright now?”

“Yeah.” Damien let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” It took him a moment to realize he was still rubbing circles into Damien’s back. He blushed, hesitating a quick a second, but when he felt Damien lean marginally back into his touch, he resumed. “Is it anything you wanted to talk about?”

“The meeting. With the angels,” Damien said stiltedly. His fingers flexed, and Pip worried for a moment they would heat up again.

“Oh? How did it go, then?”

“It was fine. We just...discussed stuff.”

“It must have been some very heated conversation then,” Pip said wryly.

“It was.”

“Oh.”

“They said things, made accusations. I…” Damien swallowed thickly “...I kept a level head, until afterwards. I did what you told me.”

“How did that work out?”

“It helped,” Damien admitted, if a bit bashfully.

“That’s wonderful! At least my lessons were of some help to you. Uh…” He was unsure if he should ask, but “... Did you get things sorted out then?”

“Yeah, for the most part. Dad’s finalizing things.”

“That’s good.”

Damien looked up. “Pip, there’s something I need to tell you. Our meeting with Heaven, it was about... it was…” His dark blue eyes drifted over Pip’s left shoulder, and centered on the bedside table. He opened and closed his mouth. “You have it still,” he said.

“Have what still?” Pip turned around, and noticed only his rose, lamp, and alarm clock. He focused on his alarm clock. “Oh, my clock? I know it’s old, but it still works. No point in replacing an alarm clock when it works.”

“Not that, _the rose_.” Damien got up, and walked over to the vase. A hand came out to trace the red petals. “You never got rid of it.”

“Damien, what are you talking about?” Damien had never been in his bedroom before then, or at least shouldn’t have been, as it was certainly without Pip’s permission.

“The rose. I gave it to you,” Damien said, picking up the rose now to roll the stem between his fingers.

Pip stood, feeling flustered both with confusion and the fact that Damien was touching _his_ rose.

“Rubbish, I would have remembered if you had.”

“It was the day after Cartman and his gang did not choose you to be their new friend. You were so sad that day. I left it in your desk at school when the class had gone out for recess. After, you found my rose in your desk at the end of the day, lying on top of your toolbox. You had smiled, and took it with you.”

Damien turned to face Pip. His face was not smug like Pip would have thought, but soft and warm. A bit embarrassed too, telling by the flush warming his cheeks. “How do you think a rose could stay alive all these years?”

Pip’s felt air trap in his chest and his heart beat fast. He was sure his face was equally as red as Damien’s. “You?” he asked, and took the rose when Damien held it out to him. “You gave it to me?”

“Yes.”

“But why? Why would you do that?”

“I…” It was here Damien seemed to lose confidence, arms wrapping around himself, head lowered, and eyes flicking off to the side. “I couldn’t do it then. And...I did something. Something I don’t think you could forgive me for.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“Pip...You…” He inhaled deeply. “You had died.”

Out of all the things Pip thought Damien would say, that was definitely not it. He blinked. “Come again?”

“You had died, Pip. When Mecha-Streisand attacked South Park, you were killed. You were supposed to go to Heaven.”

“Wait, wait, I _died?_ How…” He looked down at himself, as if he would somehow see signs of decay or see through himself. _“Am I a ghost?”_

“No. I revived you.”

“You revived me.”

“It’s not a power I can use often, pulling a soul back from the afterlife. But I had repaired your body after Mecha-Streisand squashed you.” Pip winced. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s...Well, to be frank, this is a lot to take in. But it would explain the nightmares then.”

“Nightmares?”

“Not so much now, but often I would have dreams of that night. Of being squashed by her, after I asked her to stop.” He looked straight at Damien. “I remember _almost_ being stepped on, though. Of fainting, and coming to on the street, wet snow hitting my face, and my adoptive parents running up to me. To think I was…” He trailed off, gazing down at his flower, when suddenly, it all came to him: The red rose, his nightmares, the cause for Damien’s meetings with Heaven.

Inhaling sharply, he said, “You pissed off the angels.”

Damien’s lips twitched. “Yes.”

“Because I had died.”

“Yes.”

“And you had revived me.”

“Yes.”

Pip took a deep breath. Softly, he asked, “Why did you never tell me?”

“It’s a lot to take in, and we weren’t especially close as kids.Mostly my fault there. But I just...I didn't want you to feel obligated or anything,” Damien mumbled, stare falling off to the side. A pink hue suffused his cheeks, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He rubbed the back of his head with a frown. “To y’know, be with me.”

“You like me?” He wanted to hear it.

The pink on his Damien’s cheeks deepened. He reluctantly made eye contact. “Yeah, I like you.”

Pip couldn’t help but laugh. “I must say, you have an interesting way of showing it.”

“I’m not good at this kind of thing,” Damien argued. He narrowed his eyes at Pip. “Talking and stuff. I’m better at doing.” For emphasis, he snapped his fingers, and a spit of fire leaped from his fingertips.

Pip smiled gently. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. However, we can always strive to improve.” He stepped closer to Damien, who eyed the closing distance between them with interest.

“Oh.” Pip saw Damien swallow thickly. He started picking at the end of his black sleeve. He opened and closed his mouth, and could not quite keep eye contact with Pip as he searched for words. Finally, taking a deep breath, he asked, “So do you forgive me? And maybe...Do you want to try? To be together, I mean.”

“Certainly not being told I had died and was revived by the boy who likes me is a lot to take in, but I understand. I forgive you.” He reached up and brushed Damien’s hair back from his forehead. “And, I certainly would like to give us a shot.”

This surprised Damien. He stared at Pip, eyes shaking. “Can I kiss you?”

Pip’s smile widened. “Of course,” he said, and cheekily added, “Didn’t you say you were a ‘do kind of guy’?”

Not a moment later, Damien dove, and pressed a fleeting kiss to his mouth. Pip blinked, barely having time to register the fact that Damien’s lips were against his, when it was gone. Damien pulled back, revealing his red face and grouchy expression as he glared down at Pip’s chin.

Pip had to hide his smile behind his hand. If he had to guess, that might have been Damien’s first kiss.

“Was that okay?” Damien asked. He flicked his gaze up to meet Pip’s. “The kiss?”

Uncovering his mouth, revealing his toothy grin and flushed cheeks, Pip reached out with his free hand to curl his fingers into the hair on Damien’s nape. “ _Yes_ , now come here you,” he said, and pulled Damien closer for a proper, and longer, kiss.

Unnoticed between their chests, the red rose glowed brightly.

  
  
****

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> -One shot inspired by S04E14 'Pip'  
> -In S06E06 'Professor Chaos', Damien is seen holding a rose despite not being called up for one, hence idea of who that rose went to ;) Also, it's my idea that the rose was manifested by Damien, hence it's longevity  
> 


End file.
